A Garden Soliloquy

A premier dramatist must constantly commit new verse to memory! I propped an embossed wooden plant marker upright against a mossy terracotta pot on the potting bench, treating its etched lettering like a freshly penned pirate monologue. Tilting backward to test my vocal projection across the garden, I bellowed a rhythmic, theatrical declamation into the damp cedar trellis above. Midway through my grand cadence, a plump black-capped chickadee fluttered down onto the rim of a rusty trowel just inches away, cocking its head to listen. I bowed with sweeping theatrical poise, letting my front fronds graze the damp cedar planks. An artist could not ask for a more appreciative front-row critic!